


shake like the bough of a willow tree

by AllegedlyAnnie



Category: Suburra - La Serie | Suburra: Blood on Rome (TV)
Genre: Aureliano POV, Dancing, M/M, nadia and angelica are there for a second, or maybe we're just ignoring the finale altogether who could say, pre-finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:09:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29748921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegedlyAnnie/pseuds/AllegedlyAnnie
Summary: "Who taught you how to dance?"Spadino laughs, going back to dancing without looking at him. “No one taught me,” he answers, “At least not this kind of dancing. I just got it.”Aureliano snorts. “You felt the beat in your heart?”“Hell yeah, I did. Don’t you feel it?”
Relationships: Aureliano Adami/Alberto "Spadino" Anacleti
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	shake like the bough of a willow tree

**Author's Note:**

> This show has been living in my head rent-free since I finished it, and I'm handling my devastation well, I think. I've moved beyond crying on the floor and am now creating silly edits on Tumblr and writing self-indulgent fanfiction where boys don't have to suffer for a minute. Anyway, I live in hope that Suburra will get the recognition it deserves one day and we'll get more fan content. Until then, I'll be over here writing stories about my sad children that I love very much.

It’s hard to say when meeting at the hotel became a tradition rather than just an occasional convenient option. The change was never discussed, just a seamless transition, not unlike the many stages of their strange partnership thus far. Most nights now, Nadia and Angelica will join them, and the four congregate around the bar to debrief, with Aureliano behind the bar, Spadino right in front of him, Angelica next to her husband, and Nadia a little to the side. (She likes the space to stretch out, though she’s moved closer lately; she has a certain amount in common with a cat, not that Aureliano’s ever going to say so out loud to her.)

Tonight, it’s just the two of them. Nadia had texted that she and Angelica were running late, and Spadino waved off Aureliano’s offer to have Flavio drop his wife off at home like it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.

“I’ll just wait and take her home,” he’d said, making himself at home at the bar.

Aureliano had given him a dry look, one eyebrow raised. “Who said you could stay?” he asked. But Spadino just grinned at him, the smug bastard, and turned on the radio.

They’ve spent five minutes now arguing about what station to put it on, each one being vetoed mostly because they just love to argue with each other. Aureliano picks a station playing a song that’s older than either of their parents and makes direct eye contact with Spadino, a challenge. (Each time he’s picked something so far, Spadino’s already been watching him, waiting.) Completely straight-faced, Aureliano says, “I love this song.”

It’s weirdly gratifying to watch him duck his chin and dissolve into a fit of the giggles, placing his hands flat on the bar and curling into himself a little like it’s just too much to bear. Aureliano can’t help but smile in return, looking away.

“You’re full of shit,” Spadino finally manages, and then he reaches for the dial and changes the station again. The next one is playing something with a driving beat, and his whole face lights up immediately, forgetting about their little game. “This one,” he declares, already nodding his head to the beat.

It’s honestly not to Aureliano’s taste, but few things are, and it’s rare to see Spadino express genuine enthusiasm for something. Usually, he prefers to enjoy things like his enjoyment should be a direct threat to others, and the threat rather than the thing itself is the spark of joy. The smile on his face is real and wide though, an equally rare experience, so Aureliano’s willing to just cross his arms and shake his head fondly instead of making a sarcastic comment.

Then, exactly like Aureliano knew he would, Spadino slips off his stool and turns his back on him, dancing to that merciless bass line. The song is this slinky thing, the kind of music that creeps into your bloodstream. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard it before. Predictably, Spadino knows every word.

It reminds Aureliano of his few club experiences, flashing lights and people pulling each other close, the smell of alcohol and sweat. That scene was never really for him, but he can picture Spadino loving it in the middle of a crowd like that. Unbidden, his mind takes a step farther and offers him an image of Spadino, without his layers, eyes closed and dancing like he was born for it, a bead of sweat sliding down the side of his throat. He imagines, just for a second, what it would be like to be able to grab his waist, press up against him--

Aureliano catches himself and shuts that train of thought down  _ hard _ . That’s not going to happen.

In the middle of the room, Spadino looks at him over his shoulder and pauses, his brow wrinkling a little. “Ao. What’s the matter?” he asks.

Aureliano looks up like a guilty kid, catches sight of those sharp angles that he was just imagining cutting himself on, and his face feels very warm all of a sudden. Desperate to say something normal, he clears his throat and asks, “Who taught you how to dance?”

He laughs, going back to dancing without looking at him. “No one taught me,” he answers, “At least not this kind of dancing. I just got it.”

Aureliano snorts. “You felt the beat in your heart?”

“Hell yeah, I did,” he answers, laughing again. “Don’t you feel it?”

“Not really.”

Music had never been Aureliano’s thing. Singing made him feel vulnerable, dancing made him feel uncoordinated, and he never felt strongly enough about either to be willing to learn to do better. He’d known from a young age that that wasn’t going to be his future anyway, so why bother?

Spadino, as it turns out, feels differently about the matter. He stops dancing, lets his arms drop, and hits him with a look like Aureliano said something rude about his jacket. Like this neutrality is a personal affront. Aureliano tips his head a little, watching him, waiting to see what’s going to come out of his mouth next. (Everything is a challenge between them.)

“Seriously, you don’t feel it?” he asks.

Aureliano spreads his hands a little and shrugs. “I seriously don’t feel it,” he admits.

Spadino shakes his head vehemently. “Come here,” he says, motioning for him to come closer.

“What?”

“I said come here. I’m gonna teach you how to dance.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“You’re being stupid. Get your ass over here.”

Aureliano comes out from behind the bar. If someone were to put a gun to his head in that moment and ask him why he did it, he wouldn’t be able to answer, but he’s standing in front of Spadino, and Spadino’s grinning like it’s his birthday.

“Okay? Now what?” Aureliano asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Uncross your arms, asshole,” he answers. Rolling his eyes, Aureliano does so, as Spadino continues, “You can’t dance with your arms crossed. How are you ever going to attract a wife?”

Like so many of the things they say to each other, it’s a question that could very easily steer them into uncharted waters. Aureliano, feeling dangerous, asks lightly, “Is that how you won over Angelica?”

“Of course it is,” Spadino responds, equally light, glancing away towards the radio. Then, his eyes land on Aureliano again, and he grins, adding, “That, and I’m so devastatingly handsome.”

Aureliano can’t help laughing, which gets Spadino laughing in turn, which is probably what he wanted. Getting Aureliano to laugh is like a competition between Spadino and everyone else in the world, one that no one else knows they’re supposed to be trying to win but couldn’t even if they did try. Then, the song on the radio changes, and Spadino waves a hand to get them both to focus.

“Alright, alright, Aurelia, listen. You hear the beat, right?” he says, nodding his head  _ one-two-three-four _ with the tempo to demonstrate.

Aureliano sighs and nods. “Yeah, I hear it.”

“Show me, don’t just stand there. Nod your head.”

He matches Spadino’s movement, keeping time, until the other is satisfied that he’s not just talking shit. Then, he starts dancing. Spadino dances like water, every movement smooth. Aureliano realizes that agreeing to this was a massive miscalculation.

“Good. You need your whole body to dance. Nothing stays still,” Spadino explains. He swivels his hips (Aureliano nearly gulps) and says, “Your hips follow the beat. Your legs and arms…” Here, his arms come up. “...are the counterpoint. And your hands, you use to accent. Got it?”

“Got it,” Aureliano says, and is briefly, privately proud that his voice comes out sounding (he thinks) unaffected--unlike his knees, which are starting to feel like jelly.

“Prove it,” Spadino challenges.

“Spadi--”

“Come on, prove it. You got up here, show me what you’ve got.”

He closes his eyes for a second, desperately wishing he could go back in time and put a stop to this madness before it started. But it’s too late for that; he’s in it now. Not looking up, he starts moving his shoulders and hips, feeling clumsy and self-conscious.

Spadino doesn’t say anything for a second, and for once, Aureliano can’t muster the courage to look at him. Then, he hears him huff a laugh, closer than before.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Spadino says, quieter because now he’s right in front of him. Not close enough to kiss, not since the day they don’t talk about, but close enough to pick up Aureliano’s hands in his own and guide him. Aureliano bites his lip, feeling like the back of his neck is on fire, but Spadino doesn’t go further than gently moving his arms like a puppet. "Don't overthink it. Defeats the whole purpose, bro. Relax."

Impossible. Utterly impossible.

The problem is one of contradictions. On the one hand, Spadino is the person that knows how to pull the tension from Aureliano's shoulders better than anyone in the world. On the other hand, this dance that they're sharing is happening on the edge of a precipice.

He wonders if Spadino feels it too, how closely they're teetering on the edge. Judging by the fact that Spadino is resolutely looking anywhere but his face, Aureliano guesses he can. They've made a second home on this edge, the pair of them, constantly pushing and pulling and circling each other. It squeezes Aureliano's heart in his chest every time, but that doesn't stop him craving it, coming back over and over without ever quite leaving solid earth.

He takes a breath. "Spadi…"

The radio's quiet enough that they both hear it when the front door opens. Spadino drops Aureliano's hands immediately and steps back, going over to the radio and turning it off. Aureliano flexes his fingers in the sudden silence, still standing where Spadino had left him in the middle of the floor. Neither of them can think of the right thing to say, and then it doesn't matter any more because Nadia and Angelica walk into the room.

The tension in the room is damning. The girls look back and forth between the two of them and then glance at each other.

"What did we miss?" Nadia asks, keeping her voice casual.

Spadino answers before Aureliano has time to say it was nothing. He's grinning again as he says, "I was teaching Aureliano how to dance."

As was probably his intention, the improbability of the statement is enough to make both women laugh. For all his ostentatious fronting, Spadino knows how to make the truth sound like a joke, and he uses it like armor.

"How did it go?" Angelica asks, looking at her husband and not Aureliano. He thinks privately that she's the scariest and most perceptive woman he's ever met, and there's something worryingly alert behind her smile.

"Terrible," Spadino says, shaking his head. "Completely hopeless."

As he says it, he finally looks at Aureliano again. Behind his mirth, there's something difficult to read. Actually, it's not difficult so much as Aureliano doesn't want to put a name to it, because that would require putting a name to the thing he feels too. So instead, he half-smiles and shoves Spadino's arm lightly as he passes by him on his way to his usual spot behind the bar and says, "If we're done listing my faults, can we get to work?"

They've moved away from the edge again, back to safe ground. But he can’t shake the feeling like there's static under his skin, and he can still feel the shape of Spadino's hands on his. He flexes his fingers again. Completely hopeless might not be so far off after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Movement" by Hozier. Feel free to come visit me on tumblr, where I am [panpacificdefensecorpse](http://panpacificdefensecorpse.tumblr.com), and we can yell into the abyss together. Thank you for reading!


End file.
